Secrets and Masks

06. I'd kill you right now

12th December

Hermione didn't expect Malfoy to be gentle when he Apparated them, but she didn't think he'd be that rough.

She almost vomited when they reappeared in front of his Manor. His magic was so violent it left her feeling unsteady and an excruciating pain throbbing between her brows. She suspected hed done it on purpose; a cruel tactic to keep her vulnerable. She was much easier to transport if she was disoriented.

She could hardly stand up, much less fight.

She felt ridiculously weak; her veins were liquid fire from whatever dark magic Voldemort had metastasized her with when he'd linked her life to Malfoys. Her blood burned. Each thump of her heart brought a fresh wave of impossible heat. It felt like acid was pumping through her body. Boiling. Sharp. In a way, she welcomed the discomfort.

A small part of her felt like she deserved it. Why should she walk away somewhat unscathed, when five of her teammates were dead, disintegrated to ashes on a burning field? She'd failed them. She deserved some form of retribution.

Freezing December rain pelted down on top of them; Hermione felt it cleaning the dried blood in her hair. It was quite calming, to feel the crimson drop from her chin. Seeing the crimson puddle on the floor brought a strange sense of clarity with it. Like washing away the vile reminder of her failure.

She tried to breathe in the scent of the rain, breathe it in and forget where she was and think rationally -

But Voldemort's words rang in her head. Unforgettable. Fear mongering.

"If he dies, she dies."

"Till death do you part."

Hermione suppressed a shudder. She bent over slightly, one hand curling around her knee for support while she massaged her temples with the other. She was dizzy, she felt as though the ground was swaying beneath her feet. She thought she was going to throw up any moment -

"For Salazars sake," a voice sneered from beside her. "Stop being so fucking dramatic."

"Oh, will you just fuck off?" she snapped without looking up, fearing the movement might damage her already fragile equilibrium. "I'm in far too much pain right now, the last thing I need is your judgment. Now, do me a favour and fuck off!"

If she weren't so nauseously helpless, she would have hexed him to oblivion by now. It was sickening, really, how powerless she felt. Since the war began, Hermione had been a force to be reckoned with. She was strong, courageous, lethal, a fucking lioness.

She hardly recognized herself now.

The tables always did turn quickly in war.

Malfoy gave an irritated sigh. "Come on Mudblood, we don't have all day."

Hermione ground her teeth together. "Didn't I already tell you to fuck off? You've taken my wand, assaulted me with I don't know how many hexes, and then dragged me to your master. Heaven knows what kind of dark and evil blood curse he's infected me with. I'm in pain, I've lost a lot of blood, and my skull feels like it's trapped between a vice. So if you don't mind, I would appreciate it if you would give me a minute to catch my breath before you haul me into whatever torture chamber you have in there!"

"My, my," Malfoy scoffed, "someone still has a temper. I thought you Gryffindor's were supposed to be nice?"

"Give me back my wand, and I'll show you how nice I can be!"

"Oh, I would love to see you try," he said. She could hear the sadistic smirk on his face.

The rain started to pick up. Hermione thought some of the droplets that pelted against her back mightve been hail, but she didn't look up to check.